


Decorum

by liketolaugh



Series: Conflict of Interest [3]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Dancing, First Kiss, Formal Clothing, Formal event, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Some angst, balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Link and Allen go on a mission together to a formal event. Or, the story of how Link finally confessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decorum

The room was nicer than the ones usually afforded to the exorcists for missions. Significantly so.

Link wasn't looking at that at the moment, however. Instead, he was obsessively straightening his vest, wishing the collar of his shirt wasn't so tight. Maybe if he loosened the tie…?

He shook his head sharply. He and Allen were here because they were capable of looking respectable, and dammit, they would.

With a sigh, he stood up and crossed to the bathroom door, where Allen was changing. He knocked on it sharply, waited a beat, and called,

"Walker, are you almost done?"

"Ah- yes. Just a moment."

Link nodded, though Allen couldn't see him, and then stepped back, waiting expectantly. A moment later, the door opened, and Allen stepped out, still fiddling nervously with the buttons of his coat.

His long fingers, clothed in their normal white gloves, danced nervously over the coat's opening, rapidly sealing it up with movements made deft by years of poker. The neat, solid black frock coat only served to make his appearance more striking, and while the red puff tie made his scar stand out more, his eyes, focused downward on the perceived flaws in his outfit, were, as always, the most notable of his features, a striking silver color always full of some vivid emotion-

Allen seemed to satisfy himself with the state of his coat and looked up, the uncertainty and nervousness in his eyes morphing into confusion and concern. "Link…?"

Link became aware that he was not breathing and swallowed, glancing away, a light flush coming over his face as he chided himself for his unprofessional behavior.

The realization that he was in love with this young man before him was not new, but he was reminded of it every day, by a million little things Allen did out of habit. Every realization was as strong and as daunting as the last, and he hoped to God that he never had to make a choice between Allen and his duties, because he wasn't at all sure, anymore, that he would be able to bring himself to hurt him.

When Link glanced back, it was to find Allen looking at him as well, with a small, almost shy smile on his face, the slow roam of his gaze making it clear that he was taking in Link's outfit - a dark brown vest set over a white dress shirt, with trousers to match, a black teck tie, and a golden pocket watch - as well.

When Allen's eyes finally lifted to meet Link's again, quite some time after he'd left the bathroom, he smiled warmly. "You clean up very nicely, Link."

How, Link wondered, does he make that sound so natural?

Unlike Allen, Link had to clear his throat twice before he finally managed to say, in a steady, carefully controlled voice, with a much less controlled blush across his face, "You look quite nice yourself, Walker."

Allen beamed at him. Link's blush deepened and he had to look away before he did something distinctly reckless, and after a lengthy, drawn-out moment, he said abruptly, "We need to get going. If the carriage is not here already, it will be soon."

Allen's expression turned more somber and he nodded. Without another word, both of them started to head outside, where the carriage was indeed waiting for them.

Allen gave the driver a polite nod and a smile before climbing in, and Link followed shortly after, casting his gaze around for safety's sake before settling, now tense and businesslike, his thoughts shoved aside in favor of work.

"Walker, do you remember where the Innocence is?" he asked in a low voice, keeping it out of the range of the driver's hearing ability.

Allen nodded, grey eyes serious.

The two of them had been sent to a formal event to collect an Innocence, which was contained within an artifact that would be displayed at the event. Surprisingly enough, they hadn't actually needed to infiltrate - the name of the Black Order was enough to get them in, and 'suitable arrangements' had been made (the nicer-than-usual inn and the carriage) for appearance's sake.

Link might have wondered at their choice of exorcist - Allen was hardly the most inconspicuous exorcist in the Order, after all - except Komui had told them, quite frankly, that aside from perhaps Lenalee, the two of them were the most likely to be able to pull of 'respectable', which Allen found horribly ironic, and privately, Link did, too.

"In and out, right?" Allen asked, sounding a little hopeful. Link smirked dryly.

"You wish. We'll have to stick around long enough to keep people from becoming suspicious. Additionally, it will be some time before the painting-" -the artifact thought to contain the Innocence- "is brought out. We'll be in there for some time."

Allen sighed but nodded resignedly, and Link allowed himself a soft chuckle before returning his attention to the streets, keeping an eye out for trouble despite knowing Allen would see it long before he did.

The event was being held in someone's manor - Link neither remembered nor cared who it belonged to. The entrance hall where they waited to be announced and admitted was large, with an elegant stairway tucked against one wall, and a grand set of doors that most likely led to a grander hall set in another.

A security nightmare, if he hadn't been here with Allen.

Link was distracted from his thoughts then by the voice of the man calling out names.

"Howard Link and Allen Walker, representing a humanitarian organization."

Link had to repress the urge to snort, and beside him, Allen coughed, probably thinking the same thing Link was. Humanitarian, indeed.

To Link's complete lack of surprise, most of the nobles instantly turned up their noses at them. With a sigh, he nudged Allen forward, heading for the doors to the main hall, with his head held high and his back stiff and straight, pretending, with every ounce of his not-insignificant acting ability, that he belonged he.

He was acutely aware that this was a lie.

Delicate music filled the air with the sounds of violins, flutes, and voices without words. A long table lined with glasses of alcohol, water, and juice (primarily the foremost) stood against the rear wall. A few people, women in floofy, frilly dresses with men in suits slightly less decorated than a Christmas tree, danced in a clear area in the middle of the room. Others stood around with serious faces, discussing things that would be long forgotten in a month or two.

"Not exactly our scene, is it?" Allen whispered to him. To Link's surprise, when he turned to look, there was a smile on the younger male's face, silver eyes sparkling with amusement. Link relaxed slightly and gave a small, wry smile in return.

"Not quite, no," he murmured back, while they made their way through the crowd. More seriously, "Remember, the painting will be brought out at nine-thirty. We have an hour and a half until then."

"I remember," Allen assured him, warm amusement coloring his voice. "What should we do until then?"

Link glanced around and grimaced. "Why don't you tell me?"

Allen didn't say anything, and when Link glanced over at him, he looked surprised. Link was surprised, too.

Link's careful manners had been taught to him by the Vatican, soon after they'd begun helping him and his friends. He'd now practiced them for so long that they had become habit, but they still didn't feel natural.

Allen's manner, by contrast, seemed to come so easily to him that Link had just assumed that he had been raised in them - the beginning of his ever-mysterious past. It hadn't occurred to him that he had never received actual confirmation of this.

It was only on closer inspection that Link noticed the tense set of Allen's shoulders, the nervous twist of his mouth. He wondered, distantly, when he had become so complacent. Months ago, he would have picked up on it immediately, rather than allow himself to be distracted by-

Link tore his thoughts away from sparkling silver eyes and warm, sincere smiles before he could become distracted all over again.

Then again, Link was no fool. He was not the man he had been months ago; It was at once exhilarating and terrifying.

"Mr. Link, Mr. Walker."

The carefully courteous tone drew their attention to the speaker, a comely woman a few years older than Link, dressed in a cream-colored dress that probably cost more than the Order's monthly food budget. The look in her eyes made Link wary in a different way from an akuma.

Before Link could make a decision, Allen stepped forward with a charming smile, one Link had marked out early on as every bit as fake as Komui's promises to work.

"Good evening, Miss Linton. How do you do?"

"How do you do?" She returned, and without waiting for a response, continued, "I understand the two of you work for a humanitarian organization. Might I inquire as to which one? My father is a philanthropist, you see."

Allen smiled apologetically. "It's small and rather private. I'm afraid we can't tell you."

Miss Linton's eyebrows rose very nearly off her face. "Oh? How do you receive contributions, then?"

"From a number of personally involved donors," Allen explained. Link was torn between admiring the ease with which he evaded the socialite's questions, and being horrified by it.

"I… see," Miss Linton said haltingly. Link could see the judgement blooming in her eyes. "Well, it was very nice to speak to you, Mr. Walker-" Her gaze flicked pointedly to Link. Link, watching Allen rather than her, could see the boy's eyes darken to a stormy gray at her unsubtle jab, and had to work to keep himself from reacting to it. "-but I'm afraid I must take my leave. Good day to you."

As soon as she was gone, Allen blew out a long, hissing breath and turned to Link.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, wincing. "I didn't think she'd leave like that."

Link shrugged. "I believe I'll survive," he said dryly.

Allen didn't look satisfied; if anything, he looked more distressed. "That was really rude of her."

Allen's anxious look made Link huff out something that could have easily been considered a laugh, and he cast Allen a small, fond smile of his own. "I assure you, she didn't deal me any sort of injury, emotional or otherwise."

Allen blushed slightly, but finally let it go. "Should we get something to drink? If we make ourselves look busy, they might leave us alone."

Link shrugged - it was as good a suggestion as any.

Still sticking close together - deliberately so, in fact, as Link was certain that Allen would easily get himself lost if Link dared leave him alone - they made their way to the drink table, each took a glass, and then struggled again to a clear spot.

Link glanced at Allen's choice and raised his eyebrow. "Juice?"

Allen shrugged, unapologetic. "I don't drink."

From the apprentice of Cross Marian, this was understandable. Actually… He frowned, suddenly concerned. "You don't mind if I drink, do you?"

Briefly, Allen looked surprised, and belatedly, Link realized that this was rather an odd question from someone who professed to be a mere watchdog, not a friend, and certainly not a lover.

Then Allen smiled, and Link forgot all about it. "No, not at all. I'm an unkind drunk myself; that's the main reason I don't."

Link blinked. He found it very hard to imagine Allen as anything like 'unkind'.

Allen smiled uncomfortably at Link's startled look, and Link coughed, looking back to the wine in his hand, of which he took a small sip.

"I have to watch myself," he admitted, watching Allen's discomfort turn into curiosity. "I have a fairly low alcohol tolerance, but it may seem strange if neither of us are drinking."

Allen nodded in agreement.

The drinking and looking busy, as it turned out, did not deter them hardly at all; Allen fielded most of them with his trademark polite smile, but Link could see the distaste he held for the situation, even if no one else could.

"Normally I like speaking to strangers," Allen admitted to Link quietly, as yet another walked away haughtily, this one a man in a frock coat much like Allen's. "But normally they don't spend the entire conversation searching for weakness, either."

So Allen had noticed that as well. Of course he had.

"I can't say I disagree," Link murmured, finishing off the glass. His head felt warm; he decided that was enough. Glancing up, he noticed another socialite approaching and frowned.

Allen followed his gaze, and Link could see the precise moment at which he held back his wince. Impulsively, Link offered, "We could dance."

Allen looked at him, startled. "We could… what?"

Link glanced away, an uncomfortable flush stealing across his cheeks. "We could dance," he repeated firmly. "We wouldn't be bothered then."

Allen stared at him, startled, and then smiled softly. For some reason, that smile - a genuine one after so many fake ones that night - made Link's blush a little deeper. "That would be nice."

Link held out a hand silently, heart racing for no good reason at all, and Allen took it, gentle but firm.

Link couldn't remember when or why or how he'd learned to dance. It might have been for a mission much like this one, or perhaps a favor from some civilian he'd saved, or perhaps even a whim of his own, unlikely as that was. He was glad now, though, that he had; there was nothing else he could think of that would give him the excuse to be so close to Allen.

He wondered how he'd allowed that to become so important to him.

Allen took the feminine role without complaint, letting Link lead them across the floor, and Link wondered if he knew this dance, or was simply uncommonly graceful. Briefly, it occurred to him that most of the people surrounding them would find this strange, two men dancing together - even scandalous.

His brown eyes met Allen's soft silver and it ceased to be important.

"I can't imagine what Bakanda would do at a place like this," Allen commented quietly, a small smile of amusement on his face, silver eyes fixed on Link's.

The image distracted Link enough to almost make him snort, but not enough to make him miss a step. A small smirk flashed across his face. "Well, that's why we were chosen for this. He mostly likely would have attempted murder by now."

Allen laughed quietly, though to Link it stood out amongst the din of the hall. "I don't think there's a 'most likely' about it." After a moment of thoughtfulness, "Lenalee might have liked it, though."

"Perhaps," Link agreed, moving them deftly around another couple and turning so Allen was facing away from their unsubtle glares. "Komui Lee would have reacted badly, I believe." He smiled at Allen's snort.

"That's an understatement."

An hour and a half passed like this, an hour and a half Link didn't think he could forget if he tried. Their conversation moved from the other exorcists to the people around them, and then to the decorations, the food, to baking and bakeries and London, to their respective travels-

And then Allen winced painfully, his cursed eye activating in a whirl of clinking gears, and the conversation was over.

Immediately, Link whirled so Allen was facing away from most of the hall, moving closer - almost improperly close - to help hide the abnormality from sight. "Where?" he murmured, unable to hide his sudden tension.

"Not in the hall yet," Allen muttered back, pain twitching subtly across his face, which would concern Link if it weren't so normal. "Can you turn? I need to see the entrance."

Link nodded and turned them a little, so that it was just within Allen's line of sight without exposing him overmuch.

At that moment, with perhaps the worst timing possible, it was announced that the painting would be brought out in just a minute. Link cursed quietly, and Allen grimaced in agreement.

"There," he murmured to Link, who glanced over as inconspicuously as he could manage.

It was a woman who'd just entered, alone, in a bright yellow dress lined with off-white. Brown hair, brown eyes, long white gloves. She looked, in other words, just like everyone else.

Link would never get used to that.

"She's a level one," Allen added as they sidestepped another couple. "I don't think they were expecting us."

"Good," Link said decisively. "That will make this easier."

Then there was a small amount of chaos as the famous painting was at last brought out, and most of the attendees headed in that direction, including, of course, the akuma. Link and Allen broke apart, to Link's slight regret, and followed suit, cutting through the crowd with the objective of reaching it before the akuma.

The precise moment everything went wrong, Link thought, was, of course, the moment the akuma transformed.

Per usual, the appearance of the hulking, balloon-shaped gun monster caused mass panic and a truly awful stampede, made worse by the bulk of ballroom dresses and swishing tailcoats.

Link and Allen were separated as they struggled against the crowd. Link was regretting the wine he'd drunk - while it had been precious little, the difference, in the heat of battle, would be noticeable.

Allen was having a little more trouble with the crowd than Link was, and was therefore farther from the akuma, which hung ominously over all of them for just a few moments before it began to fire.

Instinctively, Link ducked, dodging and weaving the best he could. It helped that the akuma was not yet aiming specifically for him, but he was soon coated in the dusty remains of nobles and socialites. Despite his dislike for them, he felt a twinge of regret.

Luckily for them, the painting had been abandoned, forgotten in the panic. Link headed for that, trusting Allen to take care of the akuma.

Later, he wondered how he'd forgotten so quickly that Allen was far enough away to take some time to reach it.

Link reached the painting and briefly considered trying to coax the Innocence out of it, as it would be easier to carry-

"Link!"

Link whirled around in time to see Allen appearing between him and the akuma, heart racing for a very different reason - it was a level one, what could possibly have made Allen sound that panicked?

Allen, from where he stood between Link and the akuma, sprang at it, his white cloak springing forth like an angel's wings, and his deadly black claw sliced through the akuma like a knife through butter.

In the next moment, his Innocence deactivated, he landed on the ground- and crumpled in a heap, black stars spreading up his neck and to his face. Link's heart stopped.

He'd lost a lot of comrades, in his time as a CROW, to the akuma virus. He'd gotten used to it as a fact of life - or he'd thought he had.

It was just a level one, how could this happen?

Without thinking, he dropped the painting and ran over to Allen, heart pounding. Everyone had long since left - it would probably take them some time to dare come back.

Amidst the drifting akuma gas, Allen was collapsed on the ground, shuddering. His face had turned black by now, and Link let his knees hit the ground beside him, eyes fixed on Allen's scrunched-up face.

"Goddammit, Walker!" he snapped, frustrated. He started to reach for him but stopped, slamming his clenched fist forcefully back to the ground. "What happened?" Allen was no newbie, how could a level one have taken him down?

Allen didn't appear to have heard him, and Link gritted his teeth as Allen took one more shuddering breath, and another, and- did it normally take this long for his comrades to fall to dust?

Slowly, painstakingly, Allen reached up to his chest with his deactivated left hand. A green glow erupted from it… and the black faded from Allen's skin.

Instantly, Link felt at once relieved and foolish. Of course. Allen was no ordinary comrade - he was an exorcist, more, he was a parasite type. He was immune to akuma poison.

Thank God.

Allen took a deeper, much less laborious breath, let it out in a soft moan, and rolled over, opening his eyes. As soon as he noticed Link, they widened slightly, filling with confusion. "Link?"

Link blew out a long, harsh breath, glancing away uncomfortably. "...You shouldn't have done that."

"I didn't die," Allen pointed out, still sounding breathless. "You would have."

So what? Link nearly snapped, but stopped himself with a short scowl. "It doesn't matter. You shouldn't compromise your own safety like that." Link was pretty sure his heart couldn't take it, which was technically beside the point.

Allen was still blinking at him, but confusion was turning into a strange kind of comprehension that eventually resulted in a soft smile that made Link's stomach flip even as Allen levered himself up, aided by Link as soon as he noticed. "I was fine," Allen repeated. Then, quieter, "Your life does matter, you know."

"Not as much as yours does," Link said without thinking. "Not to me."

Silence. Allen stared at him with wide eyes, and Link nearly cursed himself aloud, withdrawing his hand, still on Allen's back, like he'd been burned. He looked away, not wanting to meet Allen's eyes.

Slowly, cautiously, Allen asked, "Why not?"

The 'correct' answer was, of course, because Allen was an exorcist. His life mattered to the world, because he could save it, where Link could not.

He meant to say that. He really did. That was not, however, what came out of his mouth.

"Because I love you."

...He'd never seen that look on Allen's face before.

Allen's eyes widened, mouth falling slightly open, and with those silver eyes Link couldn't ever seem to stop looking at, he looked at Link like he was an alien, or an angel. Link's heart clenched and he almost took it back - not because it wasn't true, but because he didn't know what that look meant. Instead he waited, holding his breath.

Allen didn't say anything, either, just stared at Link. Slowly, his eyes filled with tears, and then, to Link's surprise, he threw himself at Link, hugging him tightly. Link, surprised, caught him, and Allen clung to him like he was never going to let go.

He didn't cry, not with those awful, sobbing whimpers Link knew he was capable of, but Link could feel his tears soaking into his suit.

"Thank you," Allen whispered at last, choked up but sincere. "Thank you."

Link held his tongue, confused and worried and relieved all at once, and he didn't let go of Allen until Allen let go of him. Even when he did, Allen stayed close, and leaned forward to give Link a kiss - not on the mouth, but on the cheek, and he said to Link,

"I love you too."

They sat together, huddled in the middle of a cloud of toxic dust that settled on their shoulders, one of them in tears and one of them more conflicted than he'd ever before felt in his life, and Link wondered how this could possibly end well.

When Allen leaned forward and kissed him again, chapped lips against chapped lips, the thought disappeared from his mind.

They would make it work. They had to.


End file.
